Harry & the Pirate VI: A Wicked Wager
by geekmama
Summary: Set two years after the end of 'Blood and Treasure', Norrington's older sister, Caroline, is surprised by romance, and from an unexpected quarter.


With thanks to my beta reader, Hereswith, and written for my friend Felaine, who wanted a little romance for Aunt Caroline...

* * *

_**~ A Wicked Wager ~**_

The _Christiana_ having been commandeered by his son and daughter-in-law for a "second honeymoon" cruise to Barbados (and incidentally, to consult with the infamous midwife and obeah woman, Yewande Zola, on their failure thus far to produce a Sparrow grandchild), only Jack and Harry were on hand to greet the merchant vessel that touched at South Bay, St. Claire Island, to allow not one but two visitors to debark: Harry's brother, George Swann, whom they'd been expecting this last fortnight; and Norrington's sister, for all love. Lady Caroline Hayes.

Jack glanced over at his wife's face and said, "Best close your mouth, sweet, or you'll be catching flies."

Harry took the hint and schooled her expression, but hissed, "What the devil is she doing here?" through the smile that was now directed at the approaching launch.

"Wanted to surprise Annie, I expect," Jack said. "She'll be disappointed." Tom and Anne had left only the week before and it'd likely be a month before they returned. He frowned at the thought of having Lady Hayes underfoot for such an extended period – she and Harry had nearly come to blows at one point last summer, when they'd all returned to Jack's baronial estate in Lincolnshire for Cousin Sera's wedding—and frowned, too, in watching Lady Hayes conversing with George. The two were sitting side by side on the thwart and seemed to be on easy terms. Very easy. George was chuckling. And then he took Caroline's hand up and patted it. It was Jack's turn to gape. "Did you see that?"

"Yes! What on _earth?_" Harry fidgeted, and emitted a small burst of fury, "Jack, if George has involved himself with that woman…"

"Aye? And what do you think you'll do about it?" Jack looked at Harry again, flushed and belligerent for all her smiles. How he loved it when she was afire over some trifle. He drawled provocatively, "She's a guest, darling. You'll be civil or I'll put you over my knee, savvy?"

She kicked him.

**o-o-o**

An hour later they were all seated in the parlor at Island House, sipping cool drinks, and a truce seemed to have been declared between the ladies. This was a relief, for previously Lady Caroline's cool manner and unthinkingly derisive remarks (how _primitive_ was Harry's plantation, how _quaint_ Island House) had caused Harry to excuse herself for ten minutes lest she explode like a small grenado. But when she'd gone, George had smoothly drawn Caroline aside and put a bug in her ear. Just a few murmured words, but Jack observed how Caroline bridled, then flushed as she exchanged a glance with George.

_Now we're for it_, Jack thought, but it was no such thing. There was no apology forthcoming, but when Harry returned Caroline was quieter, and more circumspect in what remarks she did make. Harry had now laid her feathers, so to speak. More or less.

"Well," said Jack, brightly. "Ain't this cozy? Could've knocked us over with no trouble at all when we saw the two of you climb into that launch, I must say."

George, lounging on the settee, said, "It was something of a spur of the moment decision for Caroline, but fortunately there was a spare cabin available on the _Emerald Sky_ and I encouraged her to book passage."

"I was hoping to surprise dear Anne, as I told you," Caroline said. "And James and Maggie, of course, as well as the rest of the family."

"Oh, they'll be surprised," Jack said with unfeigned sincerity. "Since Annie and Tom are away, Harry and I would be glad to run you over to Port Royal on the _Pearl_, won't we, love?" Jack smiled as his darling choked on her sip of punch.

But Harry cleared her throat and rose to the occasion. "Yes, of course, we'd be happy to oblige. James and Maggie will be glad to see you, and the children, too. Why, you've never met Suzanna and Michael's youngest, and Julietta's little son is walking now."

"It will be wonderful to see them," Caroline said. "You'll enjoy Port Royal, George. Such a pretty harbor, and the governor's mansion, where James and Maggie now make their home, is like a breath of civilization in these remote islands." And then, observing Harry's frozen expression, she added, "Like a breath of England, is what I meant to say."

"Hmmph," said Harry. Jack had a premonition and winced slightly as Harry fulfilled it in spades. "Caroline, forgive me if I change the subject, but it is evident that you and my brother have become close friends. _Very_ close. How precisely did that come about, may I ask?"

Caroline flushed at this direct approach, which was not at all in her own style. But George chuckled, and said to Caroline, "Told you they'd have our measure in no time, m'dear. Shall I tell them?"

"George—"

"Caroline, Harry is hardly one to throw stones."

Caroline eyed Jack and Harry somewhat grimly for a moment, but then turned to George. "Very well."

But George picked up her hand and kissed it, and said, "That's the spirit."

And she actually smiled.

**o-o-o**

Caroline Hayes, _née_ Norrington, might be long past the first blush of youth, and the epithet _old cattish_ could justly be employed in describing her behavior on occasion, but she was a fine figure of a woman for all that, very fine indeed, thought George Swann, studying her with some amusement as she entered the assembly room. He was gratified a moment later when, glancing about her, she caught him looking and some color came into those ivory cheeks. He had to fight down a chuckle as she lifted her chin, inclined her head very slightly and firmly turned away to address her companions, two lumpish but obviously well-to-do matrons that Caroline cast into the shade with little effort.

She knew how to dress, at least. That _robe à la française_ of hers was in the latest mode, and the gorgeous material - a rich burgundy embroidered in a subtle and beautiful oriental pattern of black couched with gold thread – brought out the warm tones of her hair, which she wore unpowdered, and of her skin, still quite flawless after all these years. She had an air, too. George couldn't deny it. He'd never been one of her admirers, she'd been a bit cold for his taste even as a girl, and he wasn't surprised when her marriage to Hayes was rumored to be unhappy. But that was long water under the bridge, Hayes had cocked up his heels nearly ten years ago, and with the Norrington family now united with the Swanns through Tom's marriage to little Anne, George and Caroline had seen rather more of each other of late, and George liked a great deal of what he saw. Perhaps it was time to reconsider her.

"Propping up the wall again I see," said Weatherby, descending on George like some disapproving old woman. "There are a great many ladies in need of partners, brother, and some of them are quite pretty, too."

George ignored this and said, "What do you think of Caroline Hayes tonight?"

Weatherby turned to look. "What a gown. She does know how to dress."

"Just what I was thinking," George nodded. "And she's not gone to seed like that troop of dowds she's with."

Weatherby turned to him. "George, you're not considering—"

"I am, actually."

"You won't succeed. God's my life, you know she's a cold fish. Hayes had a mistress in keeping nearly the whole of their marriage!"

George lifted a brow. "Maybe that was the problem. She's a proud woman. Tolerable exact, for a female."

"She is. Cold and proud. You'll find yourself at a standstill in short order, believe me."

"What, have you attempted to scale the ramparts?" George grinned as Weatherby sputtered.

"No! Of course not. But we've seen enough of her these last eighteen months, surely you know that it's impossible."

"I don't know it, actually," George said. "There's fire beneath that hauteur and nonsense, Weatherby. Gad, remember how she and Harry were going at it last summer?"

Weatherby grimaced. "Thank Heaven Sparrow has some influence over his wife, and the sense to use it."

George chuckled. "Harry was always a right one."

Weatherby gave a roll of his eyes.

"But," said George, "I don't believe Caroline Norrington is a hopeless case. In fact, I'll make you a wager. She'll accompany me when I leave for the West Indies next month, and I'll see how she flies, too. It's a lengthy voyage."

Weatherby stared. "You're mad! She has no intention of leaving London, not with the season just beginning. She dislikes Harry extremely –"

"She likes the Norringtons—"

"And if _see how she flies_ means you'll attempt to bed her, all I can say is that it's an outrageous suggestion! Immoral in the extreme – and _impossible!_"

"I'll lay you two hundred guineas."

"Two hundred—" Weatherby sputtered some more, but then made an effort and pulled himself together. "Done," he said, firmly. "I'll allow you to give me a draft on your bank, I know you're good for it."

"Ah-ah-ah!" George shook his finger at him. "Not so fast, brother. We may surprise you, the ice queen and I."

"Impossible," Weatherby said, for the third time, and in a tone meant to clinch the matter.

**o-o-o****  
**

Caroline stood alone at the rail of the _Emerald Sky_, looking at the winking stars in the clear night and wondered at the fate that had led her here, to a ship headed for the West Indies. It seemed nonsensical. A month previous she had had no thought of leaving London, not when the season had just begun, nor had she had any particular desire for the companionship to be afforded by the male of the species. Yet here she was, sailing briskly west to visit her family, some of whom she'd not seen since her last voyage to Jamaica; and in the company of the notorious George Swann, too, a man who'd been a rake from the time he was breeched.

She thought back, step by step. It was that assembly, she thought. Only a month ago. She had not expected to see George there, certainly, though if she had known he'd be present it would not have deterred her. But her surprise at seeing him had set her off balance, for the last time they'd met had been the day after that wedding at Fleet Hall, the day of that horrid scene with Harry.

It had begun over a slight criticism Caroline had made regarding the management and housekeeping at Fleet Hall. Seraphina Whibble – now Locke – had not the skill to keep a great house in order, and was far too lax with the servants. Caroline had only thought to give Sera a hint or two, but the goose had apparently been quite_crushed_ and had wept out her heart to Harry mere hours before the wedding. This Caroline had learned the day after the wedding – Harry had been cool but polite until the newlyweds were out the door and off on their wedding trip.

But the next morning, when Caroline came down to the breakfast room and had the temerity to take the housemaid to task for setting the table incorrectly, Harry lost herself entirely. Even now Caroline could feel herself flushing hotly at what had been said. On both sides. Indeed, if Jack Sparrow and George and Weatherby Swann had not arrived on the scene when they had, the situation might very well have turned from argument to brawl. But they had arrived, Harry had been removed to compose herself, and Caroline had gone to pack her things. Her leave-taking two hours later had been awkward in the extreme. Harry, as pale as she'd been flushed during their _contretemps_, had apologized for losing her temper but not for her unrestrained words, and Caroline had itched to slap her. However, she'd made her curtsy instead and swept from the house, barely uttering a word to any of them.

Except George. He had handed her into the carriage, looking both amused and sympathetic.

"Don't take it too much to heart, Caroline," he'd said. "Harry can be a rare tartar, but she doesn't mean half what she says, you know."

Caroline had sniffed, but thanked him. And then found herself sniffing more and more as the carriage drew away. And taking out her quite inadequate handkerchief to daub at hot, stinging tears of anger. And, it must be admitted, shame.

A dreadful incident.

And now, here she was, on a ship headed for the West Indies and Harry's home on St. Claire Island, all because George had suggested it. George, who had been kind to her in a moment of need.

It was quite nonsensical. And she was as off balance now as she'd been at that assembly.

If she didn't know better, she would suspect George of having designs on her person. He'd been more attentive than she'd ever known him to be, this last month, though he still preserved the sardonic air. He was a handsome man, his countenance saved from harshness by that arched brow and the warm laughter that often lit his eyes and curled his lip. He'd kept his figure, too, no need for stays to make his clothing fit properly. And speaking of clothing, she liked a man's dress to be _point devis_, and George, for all his lax morals and casual air, had no trouble achieving this ideal. He liked beautiful clothing. Beautiful things. Why look at his town home in Mount Street – a veritable showcase for his collection of furniture and bric-a-brac, gathered from all over the world. She'd give much to have the run of that house for a day. Or even longer.

"Woolgathering, my dear?"

Caroline started and turned to George, who was now directly behind her. She frowned. "I didn't hear your approach, it's this constant wind."

"If the wind were not constant we'd certainly be at a standstill," he said gently, laughter in his voice.

She laughed, too. "So we would." Then she sobered a little. "George, may I ask you something?"

"Of course. I might even answer."

She pursed her lips. "What inspired you to suggest I come on this voyage? With your gallantry these last weeks… well, if I didn't know better, I'd suspect you of…" Her voice trailed off, for she felt herself flushing, and she turned away from him to look out at the sea, black and shining under the stars.

"You would, would you?" he mused. He came to stand close beside her at the rail, and took up her hand in a warm clasp. "What if I told you it was a wager?"

She stiffened. "A wager? What sort of wager? And with whom?"

"With Weatherby, at that assembly a month ago. Two hundred guineas that I could persuade you to come with me."

"Two hundred! That's a small fortune!"

"To some. Weatherby's good for it. And it was certainly worth the risk. Are you angry?"

She was frowning at the confusion of emotion in her breast, her heart thudding uncomfortably. "Would you care if I was angry?" she retorted, rather harshly.

"Well, yes. You see, there was rather more to it than that. I haven't won the wager just yet."

And suddenly she knew what the rest was, even without him saying it.

Unbelievable! She pulled her hand away and turned toward him, chin up, eyes narrowing. But he was looking straight at her, and there was something about his expression… a warmth under the amusement, a questioning anticipation. The bud of anger withered before it could bloom, and she seemed to be having some difficulty breathing. She pulled herself together. "You jest," she said, putting as much scorn in it as she could manage.

"Not at all."

"I should be insulted."

"Are you?"

She swallowed convulsively, and turned to the sea again. "It's absurd. Why on earth would you want me in… in _that_ way?"

He let go of her hand and leaned on the rail, looking out on the heaving swell along with her. "Did Hayes teach you that? To devalue yourself."

"We will not speak of Hayes, if you please," she said stiffly, and pressed her lips together. Odious experiences, those nights when he would come to her bed. Not often, twice a year, perhaps, but… oh, Heavens. She pushed the memories away.

And then wondered what it would be like with… another. With George.

"Very well," he said, easily, "let's speak of you, instead."

She laughed mirthlessly. "You cannot say you care for me, not now, when you have admitted this is all for a wager. Oh, I shall give Weatherby a piece of my mind when next I see him, I can tell you."

"Well, it was my idea. You looked quite stunning that night. My favorite color in gowns, and you wore it to perfection. You know how I enjoy beautiful things."

She blushed, as though she were a silly girl rather than a middle-aged widow who prided herself on her good sense. But she said, "We are alike in that." And blushed hotter.

"We're alike in many ways, Caroline, and I have recently suspected we might be in others. Will you explore that possibility with me? I promise I will never describe you as _old cattish_ again if you allow me to win my wager."

"_Old cattish!_" she exclaimed, whirling to face him, but again her flair of anger died at the look of amusement on his face. Of fond amusement. "Outrageous!" she told him.

"Yes, but you like that about me."

"I do not!"

"Now you are being deliberately contrary. I shall forgive you this time, however, under the circumstances."

For a moment she was at a loss for words, staring up at him. Considering. "Well. I wonder that you do not try to… to take advantage of me, if you are so smitten."

"Carried away with lust?" He was suddenly grinning. "No, no. I'm years past that sort of behavior, thank you. I'll not force you to anything, Caroline, not out here particularly, where anyone might see us. But here's a challenge: come to my cabin. We'll start with a kiss and see where it leads us, eh?"

Caroline had not been kissed in years, and had not liked it for years before that. She bit her lip, then lifted her chin belligerently. "You insult me."

"Never in life."

"I… I'm not a coward."

"I know that."

"This is quite… indecent."

"Now that is your _petit-bourgeois_ peeking out. Put her firmly away, I do beseech you. Come."

He held out his hand.

She hesitated, inwardly berating herself for a fool for even considering it. Though she had always liked George. Liked him even now, when she was well aware she should not.

She set her hand in his, and steeled herself at the warm clasp. She said firmly, "A kiss, then, and no more. If that is all I wish."

"If that's all," he agreed, and raised her hand to his lips.

She gave a tiny gasp at the intimate touch, and at the small, long-forgotten ache that manifested itself.

And so she kept silence when he drew her arm through his, and led her across the starlit deck, down the companionway, along the dim (and thankfully deserted) corridor to the passenger cabins. Past her own door. On to his own.

His cabin was the largest of the six on the _Emerald Sky_, but not enormous by any means. But there was a small lamp burning, and she saw immediately that the berth was wider than hers, and that the covers had been neatly turned down in readiness for him.

"George—" she began, suddenly seeing the reality behind this madness.

But he'd shut the door softly and now took her by the shoulders and said, "A kiss, Caroline."

She said, faintly, "Very well."

His hands, his arms slipped about her, drew her close against him. Her heart was fluttering so, she could barely breathe, and she was unable to look up until his fingers under her chin remedied that situation. His face blurred, she closed her eyes… and he placed a kiss, very gently, to one side of her mouth.

Relief made her laugh. "George—" she began, but then his lips were on hers, and she was silenced, her soul trembling. "Oh," she whispered when it ended – the kiss, only; he did not release her, otherwise.

"Once more?" he asked, so close she could feel the words against her lips .

She swallowed hard. "Yes."

Longer this time, yet there was no question of being forced. His arm tightened about her, his other hand roamed, fingers brushing, teasing…oh…_oh!_

"No!" she gasped, suddenly afraid, and struggled very briefly until he let her go. She backed two steps, fetched up against the wood frame of the berth, and stood there, her breast heaving in her agitation. He was smiling. She said, resentfully, "You'll laugh at me."

"Eh?" His brows drew sharply together.

She said, more firmly, "You'll laugh at me. The needy, middle-aged widow. A classic jest. This is all a jest to you, isn't it?"

He smiled again, but sadly, and held out his hand once more. "Caroline. I don't love you, no, nor do you love me. But it's not so wrong to need, is it?"

The hand was there, waiting.

She took it.

As he took her in his arms once more, she said, "You won't laugh?"

"I won't laugh _at_ you, you have my word. But I do sincerely hope, my dear, that we can sometimes laugh together."

**o-o-o****  
**  
Harry was staring again. Jack gave her a slight shove with his elbow.

"Oh!" she said, startled. "Oh, yes. Forgive me." She looked at Caroline, who was considerably flushed. "An _affaire_? I… well, it's just surprising, that's all. I'm so sorry to appear astonished, but I wouldn't have thought…"

Caroline spoke at last. "I wouldn't have thought, either. Before."

A smile grew on Harry's lips and lit her eyes. "Come, Caroline," she said, bouncing up. "Let me show you my gardens. I admit, they are _primitive_ in comparison with those of Fleet Hall, but they are very beautiful for all that, and I did plant the roses with my own hands—some of them, at least."

Caroline seemed very pleased and, after a speaking glance at George, rose and followed Harry from the room.

Jack turned to his brother-in-law. "Lord. If that don't beat everything. You bloody deserve those two hundred guineas, upon my soul. She's almost human."

George gave a chuff of laughter and said, "You'd be surprised just how human she really is, Jack." Then he shook his head. "I won't take Weatherby's money. It's gone beyond that, I fear."

Jack gave a low whistle. "Has it? Beyond an _affaire_ as well?"

"Perhaps." George smiled. "We've not had time to discuss the issue as yet. We've been having too much fun laughing together."

_**~ The End ~**_


End file.
